Observations

When Brisket Bites Back: A Tale of Smoked Hubris and Redemption

Act 1: The Brisket Blunder

Saturday’s dinner was supposed to be a triumph of smoked meat. The sides were flawless, the company delightful, but the brisket… oh, the brisket. The first three hours on the smoker gave us hope. Then Judy made a quick trip to Abby’s, and apparently, the brisket decided to use this window for its escape from “tender” into “chewy boot leather.”

Approximately one-third of the brisket was edible. The rest? Let’s just say it would have made a fine rubber band collection.

Act 2: CSI: Brisket Edition

We launched an investigation:

  • Was it the missing orange juice when we wrapped it in foil? This is our favorite theory, as it makes us look less incompetent.
  • Was it the smoker running too hot? (We plead the Fifth.)
  • Did I over-trim it? Possibly. Maybe. Okay, likely.

No matter the cause, our brisket won’t be joining our greatest hits playlist any time soon. And after two out of three brisket fails with the kids, we’re keeping the next attempt private. I’d rather have a meal as a backdrop for conversation than as a reason for continuous apologies.

Act 3: The Vegetarian Perspective

There was one bright spot: our resident vegetarian gave the meal an “A.” Black bean burgers, veggies, all the fixings—she was blissfully unaware of the brisket fiasco. Sometimes it pays to skip the main course.

Act 4: Sweet Redemption

Thank goodness for blondie brownies and ice cream. Dessert provided just enough sugar to help us forget our meaty missteps.

The next night, we redeemed ourselves with fajitas—chicken grilled to perfection (thanks, 10+ years of chicken experience!). Judy and I shamelessly angled for compliments, and the kids, to their credit, tossed us a few. The watermelon and street corn were the real MVPs, making the meal feel like a true celebration.

Epilogue: A Weekend Turnaround

We finished the weekend on a culinary high—proving once again that while brisket may occasionally defeat us, chicken (and dessert) will always have our backs.

Toast, Utensils, and Marital Diplomacy: A Slice of Life

Let’s be honest: the kitchen is not just where we prepare food—it’s where domestic philosophy is forged, sometimes on the blade of a butter knife. In my household, we follow a sacred code: “Help the dishwasher out as much as you can.” It’s a noble creed—one that my wife and I mostly share, with a tiny, chocolate-hazelnut exception.

Toast: The Great Equalizer (Almost)

Both of us are toast fans. (We even had a toast song, but that’s a story for another day—and possibly another genre.) While my heart belongs to a bagel with peanut butter, toast comes in at a very respectable second. My wife? She’s all in on toast, topped with Nutella. Frankly, you can’t go wrong with either.

The Knife Dilemma: Peanut Butter vs. Nutella Protocol

Here’s where the marital kitchen harmony wobbles: the post-spread knife ritual.

  • My method: I lick both sides of the knife clean. Some might call it overkill; I call it preventive maintenance. That knife comes out of the dishwasher so clean, it could double as a dental mirror.
  • My wife’s method: She wipes the knife clean on her toast. Efficient, elegant, but perhaps a smidge too trusting of the dishwasher’s powers.

The Empty-Nester’s Dilemma

Back when the house was full of kids, the dishwasher ran daily, and any rogue Nutella or peanut butter never stood a chance. Now, with fewer meals and fewer cycles, any residue has time to harden into something the dishwasher considers “character-building.”

My Heroic Intervention

This morning, as the Nutella knife was headed for the dishwasher, I sprang into action—tongue first. I gave that knife a pre-wash so thorough, the dishwasher sighed in relief.

Let it be known: if the dishwasher fails to deliver, it’s not for my lack of effort. Some people talk about making sacrifices for their marriage. Me? I just lick the knife.

In summary: Marriage is about compromise, teamwork, and occasionally, making sure your appliances don’t face impossible odds. And if you ever need someone to clean up after toast, you know who to call.

Adventures in Dentistry: Numbness, Cavities, and Bonus Surprises

(I had some help organizing my thoughts, but there is LOTS OF ME in this post. My friend just helped me out.)

The dentist visit wasn’t bad. I mean, it could have been worse. I could have been visiting a dentist in Russia. There could have been pain. But overall, it was a pretty good experience—well, as good as a day at the dentist can get. Let’s review the highlights of my tooth-taming escapade.

1. The Numbing Juice: A Marathon, Not a Sprint

I was given the choice: a shot or gas. I went with the shot, and wow, did it pack a punch. I write this at nearly 5:00 p.m., and my face is just now returning to normal.

The “numb-numb juice” was administered around 11:00 a.m., and it stayed with me like an overcommitted houseguest. My nose finally joined the land of the living sometime after lunch, during which I carefully sipped a milkshake so I wouldn’t accidentally chew my own cheek. Pro tip: nothing says “good decision” like avoiding self-inflicted mouth injuries.

2. From Rock Legends to Light Rock Ambiance

The radio started off strong with 80s and 90s rock. But at some point, the station switched to light rock. A sudden Beach Boys song made me question everything. Are the Beach Boys considered light rock? Or were they just preparing me for the emotional rollercoaster of dental work? The world may never know.

3. The “Wheel of Fortune” Numbing Timeline

By the time the numbness finally wore off, it was Wheel of Fortune time. That’s seven hours of “throw the pain in the other room” magic. Reflecting back, the dentist did mention, “The cavities are really close to the nerve.” I guess that explained the Olympic-level dose of numbing juice.

4. The Block: My New Favorite Dental Gadget

Let’s talk about the block—the little device they stick in your mouth to prop it open. At first, it felt weird and awkward, but when they removed it to let me rest, I realized how much I relied on it. Without it, I had no clue how far to keep my mouth open. The block became my security blanket. Everyone needs a crutch sometimes, and mine was a piece of plastic wedged between my teeth.

5. The Surprise Cavity Bonus

While she was working, the dentist casually said, “Hey, I noticed another cavity while I was in there. I went ahead and prepped it for a filling, too.”

Uh, come again?

Apparently, while my face was numb and I was blissfully unaware, they decided to tackle a bonus cavity. It was all perfectly legal, of course—thanks to the form I initialed beforehand. You know the one: “The estimate is just an estimate. If additional mutually beneficial work is identified, we’ll take care of it!” Well played, dentist. Well played.

6. Tear-Off Cavities: The Sequel No One Asked For

Two out of the three cavities today were what they called “tear-offs.” Essentially, the edges of old fillings decided to betray me and let the bad guys in. The third cavity was the surprise bonus cavity. Not a freebie, but hey, it came with built-in discounts because, as the dentist might say, “The drill’s already warmed up!”

7. Crown Removal: Next Week’s Fun Adventure

Next week, I get to have a “false crown” removed. Apparently, a cavity snuck in under it. (Yes, this happens. No, I didn’t know it could.)

Here’s the good news: explosives won’t be necessary to remove the crown. Instead, they’ll use a “tool” that “turns the glue into water,” allowing the crown to practically leap out of my mouth. At least, that’s how it was explained to me. I’m choosing to believe this process will be as magical and painless as described.

Final Thoughts: A Dentist Visit to Remember

In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t the worst dentist visit. Sure, I left with a numb face, a bonus cavity, and a few less dollars in my bank account. But I also left with functioning teeth, a renewed appreciation for the block, and the knowledge that my crown removal won’t require dynamite.

Here’s hoping next week’s crown adventure is just as “pleasant.” And by pleasant, I mean over quickly, with minimal drama and no surprise soundtrack changes.

Sound Of Security

(The image doesn’t accurately show the process of adding a storm shelter to a completed garage. The real process does not have a blade as anxious to incapacitate.)

As I awoke this morning, I heard the sound of concrete saw. This wasn’t the sound of someone breaking in to someone’s house; it was the sound of a storm shelter being installed.

In our Oklahoma neighborhood, the transitional seasons can have ugly weather. While a storm shelter does nothing to protect what is above the ground, it will secure what is under. With many completed homes for sale in the neighborhood, the sound of the saw is the sound of a realtor’s success. When spring arrives, we will find out how many times the tornado sirens summon us to its dark and safe depths.

You have to live somewhere. You and your property can be attacked by wind, earthquakes, floods, fires, and all sorts of natural phenomenon. You take precautions. You say prayers for the safety of those under your roof and those you love. When it’s all over and done, your Christian faith tells you it’s not yours anyway. The safety of eternity will have to do. 🙂

Oklahoma Snow

As the weatherman gave us a couple days notice of the upcoming winter weather, I didn’t believe him. Having been exposed to how Southerners feel about snow, I expected a light dusting and empty shelves at the grocery store. We got more winter than I could have imagined, but it was done Southern-style.

  1. When we woke, the flakes were following. In Texas, flakes are often greeted by a layer of ice. In Oklahoma, our first winter storm had no ice. It was a very damp, packable snow.
  2. With no kids in the house to confirm, it appears that because of the snow and lack of significant snow removal equipment, the schools are closed until Monday.
  3. While I hadn’t completed my research at the local Walmart, my son, who has lived in Oklahoma for 10 years, assured me that the shelves were empty. His conclusion is formed more by stereotypes than validation.
  4. Who clears the snow from their driveway and sidewalk? I do. Why? I am a Midwesterner who has moved to the south. Southerners, those I have met, believe letting it melt is far superior to any physical exertion. It is better to have a chance of slipping than to remove the snow and remove the risk of injury. (Their apparent logic.)
  5. Oklahoma (and by extension, Southerners in general) extend a great deal of latitude when their children want to enjoy the snow. While walking yesterday, I saw an elementary child in his underwear (bottoms only) diving into the snow. I only saw one dive. I don’t know if it was his last or if he went to warm up before diving again.
  6. Finally, tornadoes bring far less fear than winter storms to those in the south. Yes, I could be exaggerating a little. Yet, when you have a storm shelter in your garage, the world “is your oyster.”

The Rec Center Walk

This past weekend, it was really cold in Oklahoma. With flurries blowing, I had three choices: take my walk outside and be miserable, skip my walk entirely, or go with my wife to the rec center and walk as she swam. I opted to go to the rec center.

We have an “old folks” rec center near our home. If you are over 50, you can join and take advantage of the programs specifically designed for more seasoned citizens. While I don’t physically put myself in this age group, I can’t hide from the chronological facts. So, as she swam, I took my first walk on the 11-laps-per-mile track.

When I first started, the track was not crowded. As I added laps to my total, more people came to join me, and I was glad to see people doing healthy things. But, I had some criticism. If people want to walk 3 -across and take up the whole track, I consider this rude. When I walk outside, I stay aware of who is coming toward me and who is behind me. On the rec center track, I had to get in the habit of yelling, “On your left” while a few yards behind. (Also, good etiquette outside.) They moved with slight annoyance. I thanked them for allowing me by…or was I thanking them for sharing the track like a civilized person would do? While this was annoying, I had a far greater frustration.

Typically, I walk 15-16 minute miles. I have gotten in the habit of using a phone app that announces the miles and the minutes per mile. When the app told me I had completed my first mile at a time of 19+ minutes. I was appalled. Prior to this disturbing announcement, I was convinced I was walking an average pace. Yes, passing people and diving through gaps does cause me to break from my normal stride. Yet, walking 3 minutes slower than normal did not sit well. The only way to solve this problem was walking faster. When the 3 miles were completed, I did not greatly improve my minutes/mile speed.

After doubting my masculinity and almost accepting the fact I am old, I developed a theory. I am certain my phone app and the GPS function were actively working against me. The GPS was not able to detect whether I was on the outer ring or the inner walking ring.

My extremely well-read friend gave this response to my question:

Walking small, repetitive laps (e.g., around a track or small park) can sometimes confuse GPS systems. The curves and overlapping paths may result in under- or over-estimating distances due to signal "drift" or smoothing.

Whether this is accurate or not, I am claiming it. As long as I am in control of my faculties, I will not trust a sporadic electronic hiccup over my gut. And, by extension, I am unlikely to walk rec center laps again…

A Month In The Life of Our Trash

When we lived back in Texas, life for our trash was short. If it had a life of longer than a week, it was only because it was a “recycle” that just missed the weekly pickup. All other trash including big and small items were picked up twice a week. Obviously, there were certain things that were not taken: chemicals, liquid paint, and propane tanks. Beyond that, our Texas trash crew were rarely discouraged from feeding anything into the mega-mawl of destruction. (a.k.a. The business end of the garbage truck) With 2 pickups every week (one a recycle), we did not know how spoiled we were.

Oklahoma handles there trash differently. (At least OKC does.) Immediately, we see the two big trash cans with wheels on the side of our house. The sidewalk the cans live seems to be a home made specifically for them. The gas meter dwells right next to them…in the middle of the sidewalk. For weekly trash days, the only trash collected is trash/recycles that fits within these rolling trash cans. Friday is always our trash day. Every other week is a recycle week. If one finds they are experts on creating trash, it appears a requests can be made to add an additional “weekly” trash can to your family.

On the 23rd of December (when this post was started), I was excited for a special day in our trash disposal experience. It is the first day we are supposed to be able to dispose of big items. This special day is the 4th Monday of every month. (Not sure of any Memorial Day or other exceptions.) When I put these items out the night of the 22nd, I calculated which side of our driveway would be the best place to place them. With a mailbox and a circular driveway, the trash has to go somewhere on either side. My calculation last night did not take into consideration the neighbor’s four cars. With the cars expanding beyond the driveway at some point during every day, I did not account for their parking on the street. As soon as I noticed this possible impact on my trash pickup, I moved everything to the other side of the driveway on the morning of the 23rd. Now, I wait…

I had to wait a few days. The rain the night of the 23rd was heavy. The pieces of the particle board desks took all of the rain in stride. The cardboard was a different matter. Its days of usefulness were behind it. I patched things up to assure easy pickup. Then, I waited again.

I knew Christmas day would be a bust. The only positive from the whole experience was when I took my morning walks. There were other who had trash still sitting out waiting to be picked up. I was not alone. My understanding of the pickup directions was identical to those who have lived here for more weeks/months than I.

Finally, the day after Christmas came. On today’s walk, I passed the other house on our street that had a substantial pile of non-standard trash. The home owner was standing outside barefoot while wearing his black nasal strip. (He must have forgot he was wearing it.) We sympathized with each other. He assured me he would call the city soon if his pile of cardboard boxes (Maybe he just moved in..?) were not picked up.

After finishing my walk an hour later, a magical sound greeted my ears. It was the sound of hydraulics compressing miscellaneous materials into a smaller space. (a.k.a. a garbage truck) They were coming up the street from “barefoot and snoring.” It was a beautiful sound. The garbage workers didn’t seem to enjoy my picture. But, the picture proves I don’t make these things up…at least mostly not.

The Over-Arching Problem

I am a walker. I get an itch if I haven’t gotten my walk in by mid-afternoon. The length may vary, but the inclusion cannot.

During a recent walk, my right arch didn’t feel quite right. Being a fixer, I “knew” I had the means to fix the problem. (A little background here…when this happened in the past, I became a Good Feet customer. I spent an outlandish amount of money on their arches. Yet, it fixed the problem.)

Knowing I had good arch inserts, I decided I would attempt to use them correctly. With Good Feet arches, you are encouraged to use velcro dots to hold the arches in place. One dot goes on the bottom of the arch support, and the other dot goes on the inside bottom of the shoe. If installed correctly, the arch is “perfectly” aligned. Your arch will smile no matter how many miles you force it to endure.

I don’t think I installed my Velcro dots correctly. After installing them on my right shoe, I took my 4+ mile walk. The walk may or may not have been the problem. I believe the combination of the new arch position and slanted sidewalks was the issue. Forcing my ankle to work on an angle with the arch in a new position was an easy scapegoat. Halfway into my walk, I was walking on the outside of my foot. And, by the time I got back home, I was hobbled.

My injury was further complicated by my competitive nature. My iPhone Fitness app has given me a walking goal for the month. To achieve this goal, I must walk. This injury was going to complicate this. While I could justify one day off, I couldn’t explain too many more off. A visit to the Good Feet store was added to my errand list.

At the Good Feet store, they took my problem seriously. They checked out the bottom of my feet. This is pretty low-tech. I step on a piece of carbon paper. It makes an impression on the paper below. It allows them to see if my foot impression is correct. (Why else would they look at the bottom of my feet?) They determined my “lifetime guaranteed” arches were a little flat. They replaced these for free and accurately attached the Velcro dots to position the arch appropriately. So I wouldn’t get out of their store for free; they charged me an excessive amount for the new anti-smelly-feet shoe liners

While I was considering postponing a walk for one more day, my daughter wanted to take a walk. I decided to take a short walk with her. When I got home, my right foot didn’t feel too bad. I still had to think about walking on my full foot and not avoiding the inside of my foot. The next day, I decided to take a longer walk. I forbade slanted sidewalks while settling for redundant scenery. (I walked around a track a few times.) Again, I had to concentrate and be a foot-whisperer, “You are a healthy foot. Act like a foot that could walk 100 miles.” My foot didn’t embrace the entire message, but it heard some of it.

With 7 days removed from the injury and 4 days post-Good Feet visit, I think my foot will recover. As important as the foot recovery is, the fulfillment of the iPhone Fitness challenge is not going to go unmet. I took on the over-arching problem and temporarily removed it as a factor in the length of my walk. The only concern now is if I can tolerate a brisk Oklahoma winter wind.

Oklahoma Vampires

While this may sound like a late Halloween post, it is not. It does, however, involve blood. It was a pint of double-red O+.

After 14+ years of donating almost entirely double-red blood in Texas (Carter Bloodcare is crediting me with 7 gallons of blood during that time.), I did my first donation in Oklahoma yesterday. As with many things, it was exactly the same but a little bit different. Prior to Texas, I also made several donations in Ohio. Those were pre-blogging and before I observed such things for my own entertainment.

The first difference was only a difference in intensity. Giving blood makes me nervous. It causes my blood pressure to spike. The first attempt to get a reading had them standing with a defibrillator over my anxious body. The second attempt was a manual reading. I still had a high reading, but it was acceptable. Driving home, I realized I usually avoided caffeine on “donation” days. Scheduling the donation the day of the letting made this a little different.

When I was in the middle of the donation, I usually look at the screen. Double red donations involve removing red blood cells and returning the remaining blood back to the body. When the blood is leaving your body, you are supposed to squeeze on the squishy object. During returns, you aren’t supposed to squeeze on anything. The screen mounted to the device is a convenient way to track what is happening. Squeezing when you are not supposed to could have detrimental results. When I asked the nurse what I should use to determine “to squeeze or not to squeeze”, she said, “When the big dial is spinning, it is a return.” If they only had created a screen for this purpose, it would have been easier. I always relied on this in the past.

When blood is returned, the point where the needle is inserted often feels ” chilled.” This could also be accompanied by a coppery taste in the mouth. In the past, I begged to get a Tums. The calcium counteracts this. At Our Blood Institute, they hand out tootsie roll-flavored candies. They were less gritty and tastier. I didn’t taste copper, so they must have worked.

Finally, as I was finishing up, the guy across from me had a seizure or some other negative reaction. I heard ice packs being thrown around and 4 people gathered around his station. He recovered and was talked before I left.

Like all previous donations, I left a pint lower. There is nothing wrong with the Oklahoma vampires’ approach—it is just different.

Fingerprint Amnesia

My Macbook and my iPad don’t know me anymore. They won’t let me tap my finger on the special spot anymore. I attempt to interact with them like I used to, but they are dead. What did I do to upset them? I moved.

It wasn’t that they liked our old house so much. And, it wasn’t them missing their friends. It is the pointer finger on my right hand. It has gone on vacation. It didn’t ask permission. I sent it away during the past week. It won’t return as quickly as I would like it to come back. Touching that “spot” is much easier than typing the password. Okay, I am getting whiney.

I have handled so many boxes over the past few weeks. The colder and dryer the weather, the more rapidly the oils were sucked out of my skin. When I wasn’t wearing gloves (which was often), they nearly poured out. It was not only filling the garage with packed boxes. It was hauling those same boxes to their new assumed location in the new house. And, since they were mislabeled, the boxes were moved 2 or 3 times before they were allowed to have their contents removed.

The hand creme that might provide a cure is buried in one of the boxes I can’t find. A travel tube of creme picked up at Walmart is beginning the fingerprint healing for now. I am hoping the gloves, warmer temps, and the ending of the unpacking phase will allow the memories of my electronic devices to return.

With the moving day now a week in the past, the fingerprint has about a 50/50 chance of sparing me the indignity of password typing. If lucky, it will be nearly 100% by the weekend. Yes, I am entertained easily!